Oberon's Midsummer
by LadyIdril
Summary: Sequel to The Last Midsummer. A lonely Lancelot finds himself responsible for the most disastrous series of love affairs and the breaking up of two perfect marriages.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: **I am in no way affiliated with the creators, actors or other people responsiblefor the filmKing Arthur and take no ownership of any of the characters except Gaia, Titania and Aeron. I'm not making any money, either, darn it._

_**Summary: **A year after the events of The Last Midsummer, Lancelot finds himself responsible for one of the most disastrous love affairs of all time, and is left with the choice to do what is right or follow his heart. A bit of a parody of A Midsummer Night's Dream, except entirely different..._

_**A/N: **Hello, my friends! I'm alive! It's about time I got my rear in gear and wrote another Tristan/Gaia fic. Sorry this took so long, I hope there's still some people out there interested in this pairing. ;) Anyway, this one's going to focus more on Lancelot and his struggles, but I love my original character with Tristan and can't resist throwing some TG fluff in the mix. A lot of Arthur romance as well. My three favorite knights, basically, fightin' overgirls and all that good stuff. The first scene was inspired by a picture, the link to which is in my profile. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! R+R and I'll give you a cookie!_

* * *

"Galahad, keep your heels down!" Tristan bellowed to the youngest of King Arthur's knights, who was presently holding his horse in a steady canter as both rider and steed swept through a monotonous rectangular arena. Galahad, who had offered to saddle the newest yearling sent to Arthur from one of Briton's ample villages, tensed at the command from the reserved scout as the horse moved into a speed too fast to be deemed even a canter.

Tristan's eyes stayed focused on the young knight, oblivious to the others around him. Gawain and Lancelot found enjoyment in mocking Galahad's impatience, making crude jokes with the other and finding pleasure when, as Galahad rode by, they could call out lewd phrases that would make the young knight's teeth clench. Dagonet, second only to Tristan in reticence, sat on the crude wooden benches deep in a nameless reverie, as he always seemed to be doing. No one knew what went on in his head. No one except, perhaps, Dagonet's only confidante, Bors. The raucous knight was presently no where to be seen in the barn, which was to be expected now that he had fathered twelve children with his new bride Lady Vanora.

Sir Jols, the newest addition to Arthur's round table, was once a humble squire, but after the events that had taken place over a year ago, before the Saxons had been defeated and Arthur had become king, Jols had proven himself far more than worthy of knighthood. Now the dark-haired man sat with the four others of his title, lightly fingering a small blade with a carved golden hilt.

"Slow the damned animal down! Don't let him take his corners like that, his footing's hell on dry ground as it is!" Tristan ran a hand over his tattooed face. Although he was never one to offer advice to others, he knew equines like his own soul and could not stand to see them ridden incorrectly, especially horses as green as this one.

"Is that a knight of the Great Table I hear speaking with a tongue such as the devil's?" Tristan smiled from under the curtain of untamed dark hair that framed his face. He turned his eyes from Galahad and his stallion to the woman entering the barn.

Gaia had been Tristan's wife for an entire year come Midsummer's Day, which was rapidly approaching. But to him it felt far less than a year. He had never expected himself to marry, but if he ever did, he had presumed it would not entertain him in the slightest. Indeed he was wrong. Every time he saw her, every time he heard her voice a new sensation ran through him and he could feel the air change. She was perfect to him; her dark eyes were like saucers, so full of a peace he would never comprehend, and her deep brown hair that somehow always managed to escape its bodkin and fall gracefully into her eyes. She would then swat at the loose strands with an alabaster hand and bite her large pink lips in annoyance. He loved her like that. When she didn't know he was watching and he could admire her as she was.

"Come now, Gaia," Gawain quipped, "You've heard worse talk than this. Er, you have met Bors, haven't you?"

The lady submitted to him, a happy luminance exuding from her chocolate eyes as she inclined her head in acquiescence. She climbed the ascending benches to sit at the topmost part of this stadium-looking seating where Tristan sat looking pleased. Her pleasant features took on a look of unfortunate reproach as, halfway to her destination, she felt Lancelot's firm gaze on her. She looked up to see Lancelot's eyes slide down her body and rest on the low neckline of her dress where a modest amount of cleavage was politely displayed.

His eyes traveled back to hers and he smiled that smile she knew so well. The one that nearly curled itself like the dark hair on his head. Despite his audacious way of persistently tempting married women to enter into a ridiculous liaison with him, Gaia knew his heart was great and that the facade that presently graced him was merely an act to enforce his reputation of promiscuity.

Knowing this, she batted her eyelashes mock-playfully before drawing a quick hand up and smacking him across the mouth. As she ascended the rest of the stair-like benches and sat comfortably beside her husband, she left a smirking Lancelot to rub his stubbled chin with satisfaction.

"Good morning, husband," Gaia declared happily, kissing Tristan lightly on the cheek as she sat down.

"Use your legs, keep him steady on those corners!" Tristan's eyes had found their way back to Galahad, whose stallion was nearly falling over himself with every turn while Galahad put his every focus on the young animal beneath him.

As Gaia's smile turned into a slightly offended frown, she felt Tristan's hand wrap lightly around her arm as he turned his attention from the knight and kissed her fervently, his other hand finding its way to the back of her neck, pulling her into the kiss. She felt a fire run through her she had come to know quite well. Everything about him made her melt into his arms, and when he specifically paid attention to her, she felt like the proverbial Wicked Witch.

As his lips slid gently away from hers, she dared herself to open her eyes, and she was met with the giant dark brown orbs of his own.

"Morning," he whispered back, and she could do nothing but close her eyes again and smile an incandescent smile that only he managed to provoke as her heart did a backflip inside her.

"Galahad, work with him! He's making mistakes, not playing tricks! Ask first, _then _demand!" Gaia opened her eyes and stared dryly at her husband, shaking her head and smirking slightly.

"How like a man to ruin such romantic a moment," she said to herself.

- - -

Guinevere stood on the parapets of Hadrian's Wall in silent contentment, her beautifully decorated gown flowing out like a flag behind her. She had been the queen of this island for a year, yet still the fabric felt unnatural around her and she longed to be free of it, back in the simple clothing of the Woads, her people.

But there were no Woads anymore. No Sarmatians, no Romans, only Britons. Everyone that entered the borders of this island was considered an equal, as was Arthur's want. But Guinevere could not help the dubious thoughts that entered her dreams at night. Thoughts of dispute and war, farmers and entire villages exercising this new law to a fault. Arthur dreamed of equality, but Guinevere knew that would not bring the peace he desired as well.

There was an uneasiness in the air. She'd felt it for some time. It was something more than fear of the things in her nightmares, it was something much more. Something far more personal that would affect few, but break her heart into a thousand pieces. She knew Arthur felt it, too, though he didn't speak of it, and that was the thing that frightened her most of all.

She heard the sound of some approaching and turned to see the king ascending the steep stone stairway towards her. He smiled happily when he saw her, his soft eyes glowing with a warm light that one only sees when someone is in love. He was so different now from the way he had been a year ago. The heavy burdens he had carried as a Roman commander were gone. He had brought his knights to freedom, found the woman he loved more than anyone before, and now, as far as he was concerned, his life was complete.

Guinevere smiled a soft smile and turned back to look out at their island as Arthur reached her side. After kissing her cheek softly, he placed his hand on the small of her back and looked out on Briton's countryside as well. The uncertainty that hung in the air was concerning to him, but the happiness and peace he had found with Guinevere was quick to overrun any fear he might have. He cherished the simple moments he spent with her, seeing how truly beautiful their life was.

"You have not eaten today," he said finally, softly, his eyes slightly coy as he beheld his wife.

"You are observant, my husband," she replied smartly. "Is it that, and not your hunger for my beauty, that drove you to come seek me?"

He laughed silently. "You're beauty, my love, was a great encouragement," he quipped, taking her hand and leading her away from the heavenly scene below the wall.

As they descended the steps, they did not see the ominous shadow whose eyes followed their every move with mischievous intent.

* * *

_**A/N: **It starts. Both of my other Midsummer stories have had wars raging at the time, but there will be none of that here. Just romantic drama. Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are love :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **I promise I will not take this long to update for the coming chapters! I promise! I'm so sorry this has taken such a crazy ammount of time and I hope you're all wanting to read this. :) Anyway, I took the pairings out of the summary because originally I couldn't fit them all. Yes, Arthur and Guinevere are together, but this is a parody of A Midsummer Night's Dream and people's fancies are going to be tossed around a little. -insert evil laugh here- :D_

* * *

He should appreciate his life, Lancelot knew, yet he wanted so much more as he sat in the pub and watched the King and his wife basking in their happiness. When he was not watching them, he was watching Tristan and Gaia; and when he was not watching Tristan and Gaia, he was watching Aeron and Titania, the favorite daughter of Merlin whom he'd fallen in love with a year past. And when he was not watching Aeron and Titania, he was watching Bors and Vanora and their umpteen children.

He should appreciate his life. The first knight of the King himself, one of the most powerful, one of the wealthiest men in Briton, but he did not feel complete. He thought back across his life, realizing he never really felt complete happiness. He had been with many women who satisfied him, of course, but he did not have the one thing everyone around him seemed to possess: true love. He had loved only two women in his life, and both stood around him daily - with their husbands. Gaia and Titania were so alike, and yet so different. Their appearances suggested they were not in fact sisters, Gaia's small stature and deep brown locks contrasting with Titania's tall, thin frame and sandy curls. Yet their spirits were precisely the same, and they had the same heart that seemed to Lancelot their most desirable attribute. There was the same angelic innocence about the two of them that their half-sister Guinevere did not seem to possess.

The queen had once captured his attention, though his desire for her was cast into a shadow by the love he felt for Titania, but Titania vowed she would marry her first love Aeron, Merlin's greatest warrior, and now the two sat as Knight and Lady of Arthur's prized Round Table.

Lancelot was retrieved from his bittersweet reverie by the sound of Bors hollering at his wife, Vanora shouting various profanities in response. The fiery redhead proceeded to slap Bors across the face and he yelled louder, causing her to cower back and then attack him once more, this time with a large wooden spoon.

No one was surprised by this. In fact, Lancelot's features formed an expression of sheer amusement at this sight. It was always the same, he knew, when these two fought.

There was a shattering heard through the pub as Vanora hurled a pitcher full of wine at Bors, which missed him and hit the wall, then Bors screeched at her several more times as she threw various other kitchen amenities his way. Finally, Bors wrestled the butcher's knife out of her hand and turned his captive to look him in the eye. There was a moments silence before the two suddenly began to kiss passionately in the middle of the pub.

"Ah, love," mused Gawain as he sat down at the table, raising his wine goblet in salute to Bors and his bride.

"Is that what that was?" Lancelot replied, immediately masking the thoughts he had previously dwelt on, covering them with a veil of conceit and indifference as he always did.

"Lancelot, do you still not believe in it?" Gawain remarked, mocking surprise. "It is a truly beautiful thing, so they say."

"So they say," Lancelot agreed. "Who are 'they' and what do they know about anything?" He drained his large glass of wine and instantly looked around for a bar maid to refresh his drink.

"What are we talking about?" Galahad chimed as he reached the table, sitting beside Gawain. His color was drained and though the sun had just set, he had already found himself well into his drink.

"Love, and the epitome of human folly," Gawain replied blithely.

"I'll drink to that," said Gawain as he raised his goblet hungrily.

"If you ask me," chimed a female voice that raised each knight's spirits more than the drink could, "I think Galahad has already drank to enough comments this evening."

Gaia smiled smugly as she came and sat beside Lancelot, a small glass half-filled with wine grasped tightly in her sober hand. She studied the face of each knight, wordlessly noting how much each had drank this night and which men she must watch closely for the rest of the evening. She came to the conclusion that Lancelot was the most sober, which did not entirely surprise here, though she reminded herself to question him before the night was over.

"You cannot intuit the otioseness of love, Lady," Lancelot said, his mouth betraying him into a smile as his eyes met hers. "I doubt you will find enjoyment here."

"Indeed," Gaia returned, noting the scowling faces made by Gawain and Galahad at the mention of the word. "Though it is, however, my intention to see to it that you men do not exercise your right to drink too freely."

"Ah," Gawain perceived, "This one's got a hidden agenda, eh?" He started at her mock-cautiously, before demanding another drink from a passing barmaid.

"Well, for one thing," Gaia said softly, "it wouldn't be a _hidden_ agenda if I've come out and told you about it, now would it?" This caused Gawain to stop and think for a long moment while Galahad allowed himself to pass into unconsciousness, his head landing on the table with a thud.

"And secondly," Gaia continued, ignoring Galahad's sudden slump, "I think he's had plenty to drink, Marie," she hinted to the barmaid who was holding another round for Gawain. Marie nodded in understanding, drawing back the cup as Gawain reached for it with a drunken hand.

He turned to Gaia with angry eyes. "That's not very nice."

Galahad jumped at the sound of Vanora throwing another pot as the lovers' quarrel started up again. He knocked over his jug, which shattered on the floor, spilling a decent amount of its contents into the dirt.

"I'm not going to pay for that, now," he muttered as he slumped back onto the table.

"You never do," Gawain muttered, shaking his head at the younger knight.

People filtered in and out of the pub as the night wore on, Gawain and Galahad drifting in and out of consciousness before gaining a second wind and causing a stir as they started a fight with each other before retreating to a few games of skill to see who could drink faster or throw farther.

This left Gaia alone at the table with Lancelot. She felt his gaze on her, and decided to take this moment to question him about the difference in his personality tonight.

"And where is your husband this evening?" Lancelot asked before she could speak.

"Oh, you know Tristan. He likes to be alone with his thoughts every so often," she replied indifferently, taking a sip of what was only her second drink that evening.

"To think he would rather be alone with thoughts than his beautiful wife," Lancelot charmed, taking another glance at her whole form as he had done several times since she entered the room.

"Ah," Gaia laughed, "No one claims to understand the way the man is." When Lancelot was silent again, she posed her question. "Lancelot, something is dissimilar about you tonight."

"You judge amiss, Milady," he replied, almost instantaneously.

"I disagree," Gaia prodded. "It is nearing midnight and you are far too sober." Lancelot smiled sardonically at this. "Pray," she said, "talk with me."

"It is getting late, Gaia," he said seriously, his eyes fixed on hers. "You should get some sleep." When she looked obstinate, he added, "Your knight will undoubtedly be desiring you tomorrow night, rest while you can."

Gaia was out of countenance as soon as the words left his mouth, her skin turning a bright red as her eyes darted around to see what ears could have heard Lancelot's words. He laughed at her and shook his head.

"Two drinks and still so prudent," he mused, "What _does_ Tristan do with you?"

Gaia sighed, shaking her head as she rose from her seat. "I think you're right, Lancelot. I should be off. Perhaps in the barn with the pigs I may be privileged with such stimulating company as I've found in you tonight."

With that she left him without a kind final word or glance, and although Lancelot never enjoyed seeing her that way, he was willing to take such brash steps to encourage her to leave. He could not stand being around her, especially when Tristan was not in sight. In any other case, Lancelot would have taken such a moment to steal away the woman with his many charms, but this was not just any woman. He loved Gaia, and Tristan was his brother in Arthur's court. He would not betray such a friend, nor such a heart as Gaia's.

Lancelot turned curiously to the dark form that suddenly slipped into Gaia's now-empty seat and raised his eyebrows when he found himself looking into the forest-like green eyes of Merlin.

* * *

_**A/N: **Yep, a very Lancelot-full chapter, eh? There was a lot of Lancelot's feelings for Gaia in this chapter, but I want to state that he is still in love with Titania, too. I don't know if I put that in very well. Another sort-of cliffhanger, sorry for that. I promise the next chapter will be up soon! And thank you so much for the reviews! I'm glad you all liked the stories leading up to this one, and I hope you like this one too!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N **I'm so terribly sorry about this chapter's tardiness! I will hasten to shut my trap and let you read!_

* * *

Lancelot raised a questioning eyebrow at Merlin, who had taken the seat beside him in silence. His robes were ragged and filthy, his hair long gray wisps of straw; one would assume he was a begger by his appearance, withered and unkept, not the father of Britain's queen. The man had become a great adviser of the king, but refused to take a place at Arthur's Table. It was instead that Arthur found himself drawn by his on volition to the dark wizard's house in the woods, seeking his advice. Lancelot, however, found the old man to be untrustworthy and mischievous, and would rarely allow himself to be in Merlin's company.

Merlin sipped from his mug and stared ahead, watching as Gaia left the pub. He did not physically acknowledge Lancelot's presence.

"She is a rare beauty, my daughter," he mused, allowing his eyes to flicker to Lancelot in the fastest movement the young knight had ever seen. It caused him to feel a slight curiosity about the man. He did not reply, however, and Merlin continued. "She has all the makings of a perfect queen. Graceful, kind...angelic." Lancelot's attention was captured by Merlin's words and he stared uncertainly at the man, still not desiring to speak. "This country would have loved her."

"I thought Guinevere was your choice as queen," Lancelot finally spoke. Merlin's thin lips curved into the slightest of smiles.

"Guinevere is in love with Arthur, and he with her."

"Indeed?" Lancelot asked indignantly, and Merlin's smile grew.

"You think I deluded such fancy?" he asked knowingly.

"I think you _arranged_ such a union," Lancelot replied honestly, his eyes narrowing slightly, expecting a denial from Merlin for such an accusation. There was no denial; Merlin leaned back in his seat, an entertained gleam in his eye.

"Do you indeed? It would not have been the smartest of interferences on my part," said he. "Gaia would have made this country's greatest queen. Should I have _arranged_, as you say, such a king and queen it would have been Gaia as queen-" he stopped to think for a moment, in which time Lancelot questioned thus,

"It was my understanding you were not found of your daughter," he remarked. "Perhaps I was dreaming, then, when you attempted to kill her three years ago? Forced her own sister to beat her and leave her to die?"

"War was raging. Not between Woad and Roman, nor Briton and Saxon. It was a war betwixt Christian and pagan. And every war has casualties." Lancelot scoffed and shook his head, sitting back in his chair and looking elsewhere for entertainment. He did not understand Merlin and therefore could not accept him.

"Should Gaia have been queen," Merlin said, "you would have been her king."

"And how do you presume that? Another arrangement?" Lancelot's indifference was a mask covering his absolute curiosity. Merlin had his attention. Both men knew this, but as men do, they walked on thin lines to protect their reputation and honor.

"Gaia is kind and loving, but she is also innocent and naive. Both are traits that desire a strong-willed, brash man to contrast. Arthur would give the world for her and desires the peace she too feels so strongly about. They would not serve this country as best. You have the obstinacy to match her leniency; the strength to match her weakness." Merlin seemed slightly relieved to say this as he drained the rest of his drink.

Lancelot was silent for a long moment, his heart swelling at the idea of himself ruling this country with Gaia by his side. He could feel her head resting onhis shoulder, could see them holding each other as they looked over the land Lancelot ruled with a strong hand. She would be clad in pink robes to match the rose color of her cheeks, he in black trousers and tunic to match that of his hair. She would speak softly to him, sweet words he could not yet imagine.

"A shame such an arrangement did not work out," Lancelot said finally, shaking himself from the reverie. "Things like this cannot be changed."

At this, Merlin turned completely in his seat and looked Lancelot square in the eyes. The young knight was taken aback as he saw the brightest gleam of excitement in the old man's eyes. Merlin removed from his robe a vial of crystal liquid and slid it stealthily across the table to Lancelot's waiting palm. Without a word, the old man walked away and Lancelot, grabbing the unusual vial and grasping it tightly, followed the strange man out the door.

* * *

The dark oak door creaked slowly open, reverberating in the silence of the evening as Gaia entered her bedroom. The ornate castle of the King was like a tomb at this midnight hour, but not due to slumber, of course; every man and woman was steadily and happily drunk at this moment, swarming around outside, only to pass out somewhere under a tree or - (the thought made Gaia's modest side blush) - in a bed belonging to someone else entirely.

Closing the large door softly, she began to hum a soft tune, one she had heard just this evening and was quite fond of. She turned around and, in mid-hum, froze. She had expected the bedroom to be empty, but indeed she was not alone.

Tristan sat on the stone windowsill, sans tunic with a dagger in hand, carefully sharpening it's blade. The moonlight shone in, illuminating his dark, shirtless form and making him seem almost angelic. Perhaps not. Perhaps it was more gothic he looked, his dark, numerous braids surrounding his face, falling perfectly into his eyes; black Sarmatian symbols forever etched into his strong cheekbones. He had looked up at the sound of the door opening, but did not move from his place at the window. He only continued his work.

Gaia raised an eyebrow at him. This was one of the nights when Tristan wanted to be alone, but he never came to their bedroom on those nights. He would usually on such nights relieve a young esquire the duty of night watch in the barns. She knew he loved her, would never deny being with her, but for a man as reticent and introverted as Tristan was, he could not completely give himself over to anyone. He needed time to think, that's how he was. She had accepted it. And she knew very well when he was in one of those moods. Tonight was certainly one of those nights.

"Tristan, you frightened me," she said confusedly, walking to the night stand to light a rugged candle. The small flame filled the room with a warm orange glow that contrasted the stark white ray coming from the window. When he did not answer, she questioned him.

"Tristan?"

"I'm fine," he replied, setting down the blade but not bothering to leave his seat at the sill. "Just thinking."

"I would have expected you to be in the stables," said Gaia, walking towards him slowly, the candle held at eye-level.

"I wanted to be here," he muttered indifferently. She could sense an uneasiness in his tone, in his body language. She visibly shuddered, consumed by worry of her husband.

He noticed this, as he noticed everything, and sighed silently. Rising from the seat and walking to her he took the candle from her small, slightly shaky hand and set it on the dresser. Her eyes were wide with a strange sort of fright, that the man she had come to put all her faith in was acting as if something bad had happened, it made her heart sink.

He silently raised his hand, tracing the lines of her face softly with his fingers. His eyes were locked with hers, attempting to console her. She did not understand the worry that seemed to hide behind his confident gaze as his fingers reached her lips, gently smoothing over the soft skin. Her eyes rimmed with tears as her brow furrowed deeply.

"I do not understand you sometimes, my love," she whispered hoarsely. He smiled softly at this.

"I know you don't," he replied before bending down to kiss her lips softly. It was not an overtly rugged kiss like she had known Tristan to present her with on many occasions; it was not a domineering kiss or a kiss that made her almost afraid of him. Yet, there was some strange urgency in the way his lips met hers this night, some unusual passion that she had never before experienced from him. It was as if he wanted to explode, wanted to kiss her in the most provocative way that would make her faint within moments, but he wouldn't. It was a restraint that she had not known him to entertain since before their marriage, and it confused her. She pulled away from him, leaning back in his arms as their lips parted. He looked at her with expectant eyes, as if he knew she was unsettled by his attitude.

She smiled softly as she reached a hand up to brush a strand from his forehead, the fickle locks falling back over his charming face almost instantly.

"Will you never speak of your troubles?" she asked him, her voice hinting a lightness that the mood certainly seemed to need. His eyes closed for a moment in reflection.

"Something doesn't feel right," he said finally. Gaia raised an eyebrow.

"I am uncertain how to respond, my love," she said after a moment. "Be this, my knight, the King's Best Scout, truly acknowledging the strangeness of conclusions and hastily jumping thither?"

He laughed at her. "And be this, my lady, the gentlest of hearts, resorting to mockery and belittlement?" He matched her humorous accusation with his own.

She bowed her head a fraction and closed her eyes in submission, chuckling softly. "Indeed, you speak such truth! Be swift, dear sir, and kind when my punishment is subjected."

"A beauty such as yours has no need to worry over punishments," he replied, then in a much more serious tone, "I forbid you to worry further about me."

"I only love you with all my heart," she responded, gazing up into his large brown orbs.

"I know you do," he said, and the process of the kiss repeated itself, this one much more like Tristan than the last.

* * *

_**A/N: **Hee. Hope you all like where this is going. I'm hoping to venture away from the general plot of Shakespeare's amazing play, so as to destroy any thread of predictability. But I'm very much into Lancelot's emotions and how he thinks right now so I'm going to be focusing a lot on that. I think there's beauty underneath thatbrazen exterior of his, and I want to write it. :P Hope you're enjoying! Hugs!_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: **Hello again! Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews! It means so much that you not only like my writing, but you're also happy with my original character paired with Tristan! Gaia's very special to me because she was the first original character I made and really followed through with. And I'm so glad you like her! Anyway, on with the story:_

* * *

"Wait!"

Merlin's suddenly fast-paced steps slowed and he turned raised eyebrows upon Lancelot. The young knight stood uncertainly, his eyes glued to the small vial in his hand. The ivory liquid glowed as the strength of the new moon's beam hit it, lighting the dark, silent street. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, ideas, expectations.

"What is this?" he asked finally, narrowing his eyes at Merlin. The old man scoffed impatiently.

"You are foolish, Lancelot. Cannot a singular seed of an idea maneuver its way into your head?"

"Tell me what's happening," Lancelot responded sternly. Merlin's mocking brow lifted and he smirked slightly. He moved closer to the young man and whispered in the darkness.

"The whole of it in her drink, mind you. Just a drop and she'll maybe smile in your direction, nothing more."

Lancelot gaped. "You want me to put this in Gaia's drink!" Merlin's only response was a tight but satisfied smile. Lancelot only stood gaping at the idea as Merlin disappeared around the corner.

A few moments later, by some unusual magic he could only associate the old wizard with, Lancelot heard the voice of Merlin somewhere in his head; and the words the old man uttered sent the young knight into an uncharacteristic shiver: "_Take your queen!_"

* * *

His quarters were dimly lit by a blazing fire, built in the attempt to fight off the cold that whipped through Briton's summer evenings. Lancelot sat in unusual reticence, his face burning from the heat of the flames in front of him. He turned the vial over in his hand, his mind lost to unnumerable questions, but only one seemed to stand out: _Can I do it?_

_Take your queen_, the words played over in his mind.

Perhaps it was as Merlin said, that there really was a reason for Gaia and himself to be in marriage. Perhaps it was written in some unforseen prophecy that only Merlin knew of. Perhaps it was intended by the gods all this time, for Arthur to fulfill his dream of peace and equality; and perhaps it was intended by the gods that Gaia and Lancelot would lead the newly-united peoples.

But there were risks. Consequences. Things far more important than reputation and desire - there was love at stake. And friendship. Why hadn't it been intended that _Tristan_ rule with Gaia? Clearly it was intended that they marry, but were the gods so severe as to plan such an interruption as Lancelot held in the palm of his hand? And the interruption of a more perfect marriage he could not imagine. Even Arthur and Guinevere's love seemed dull in comparison to the connection between Tristan and his lady. _Could I do it?_

Of course he could not! It was beyond the realm indecency, deep into the utter barbaric. Had Gaia come to him by her own volition circumstances would be entirely different. But to put - he looked again at the vial in his hand. The liquid was so unusual to him; certainly something Merlin had concocted deep in the mysterious woods of his. Despite it's pearl-like color, Lancelot could not help but see the liquid as the darkest for of magic in the world.

He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face, feeling the warmth from the fire's flames and pushing his chair a distance away.

Without warning, his mind slipped into a picture - one that had been painted for him only hours ago. He was standing on the parapets again, Gaia by his side. She looked happier, more beautiful than he ever remembered seeing her. She was holding his hand in hers, her dainty fingers caressing his rough skin as they looked down below into some unseen joy. He could see her blushing softly, he could see the diamond ring on her hand. It was not the ring Tristan had given her. It was a new ring. Lancelot's ring.

He shook his head maddeningly, running his hand through his rich curls in frustration. Why was his mind entertaining these dreams? He would never hurt Tristan - he would never hurt Gaia like this! But then why could he not forget these events? The vial burned in his palm and he entertained throwing it into the fire. But something stopped him. An unexplainable force was denying him this pleasure.

He stood and unbuttoned his tunic, walking absently across the room to his bed. When he laid his head down and closed his eyes he saw again the happy couple. He and Gaia. He constantly wanted to remove this image from his mind, and yet it was the most beautiful sight he could ever wish to see.

He stared at the ceiling, wondering if this was another of Merlin's encouragements or perhaps a true direction from the gods. After a moment of reveling in the stillness of the night, he had made up his mind...

* * *

_**A/N: **I know, I know, uber shortness and uber cliffhangerishness. (Yeah, and I call myself a writer) This just felt like a good place to stop and I wanted to focus this chapter on Lancelot. I'm sure I didn't really make his emotions completely clear here, but in my opinion he's so out-of-sorts, uncertain of what to do, there's really no straight-thinking to be had here. Anyway! Hope you enjoyed. I promise I'll update very soon! Idril._


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N: Hey, remember me? I hope so! It has been months since I updated, hopefully people are still interested in this story. If so, good! Cause I bring you a bit of a twist here. I'm sorry for not updating, I had a lot of stuff going on. But now I should be set, updating much more frequently - at least, within the month! Goodness, I'm horrible. Anyway! Enough talk, here's the next chapter._**

* * *

Lancelot could not deny that his palms were sweating profusely as he walked to the knights' quarters where breakfast would be waiting. His mind ran over the thoughts he'd had the night before. He knew what he wanted and he knew what was right, and he knew that they were two very different things. He wanted Gaia to be happy as well, but he was dubious that she might be unhappy with him. After seeing her face in his dreams, her standing beside him in complete peace; he knew he could make her happy. But what was right - that was an entirely different scenario. This could not be proven right - even he with the slyest of tongues could not muster righteousness out of what he was considering, what he might very well attempt if the opportunity presented itself. 

And it did.

As Lancelot entered the room he was greeted with every knight in Arthur's charge, this including both Gaia and Titania. The two sisters were sitting beside each other, talking spiritedly. One glance around the room showed most of the occupants surrounding Bors as he told another colorful tale of debauchery and warfare in his years of his service to Rome. It did not shock Lancelot to see the two gentle-hearted sisters as detached from the storyteller as possible.

Lancelot began to walk towards Gaia and Titania, but felt the pressure of a pair of eyes upon him. Turning his head slightly, he saw Aeron's orbs peering over his chalice, threatening, almost daring Lancelot to move a step closer to his wife. He knew the Woad-turned-knight would never forgive him for his attempts to steal Titania away, but Lancelot was not a man to be threatened.

Irritably, he continued on, coming up behind Gaia and motioning for Titania to remain silent as he bent down to whisper, mere inches from her soft skin.

"Morning, Lady," he said through a smile as his hand instantly came up to grasp her wrist as she attempted to slap him. He sighed mock-sadly. "You really must find a new way to great me. Something a little less painful, perhaps?"

"Lancelot," Gaia said, her cheeks flaming, "I _am_ a married woman! Not to mention that my husband is right over-"

"Yes, yes, I know," Lancelot interrupted indifferently. "I wonder, Titania," he added, his eyes shifting but his hand not releasing Gaia's, "is it possible for me to be in the same room without having to fear a knife to my back?" He tilted his head to where Aeron stood, a great deal of anger in his eyes, seeming to want to explode.

"Well, you _do_ make an entrance, Lancelot," Titania quipped, "As you've done so well to show us just now." She glanced back to where her husband stood. "He does _not_ look particularly pleasant today. Thank you, Lancelot," she added as she rose from her seat and went hastily to her husband's side. Lancelot watched for a moment as Aeron said a few hasty things to her, then calmed as she spoke softly and laughed the situation off.

"I wonder," Gaia mused, drawing Lancelot's attention back, "might you consider releasing my captive wrist before dinner is served? Or am I to make due with but one hand for the rest of my days? I dare to think Tristan would not see light in _that._"

Lancelot smirked and released his grasp, silently staring at her for a moment. Her eyes were wide and curious, perhaps slightly concerned at his unusual momentary reticence, but those eyes managed to capture him again. His mind flashed to the scene he dreamed of every night: a peaceful Gaia gently cradled in his arms, both lovers consumed by the most powerful emotional sensations.

"Lancelot, what vexes you?"

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Would you like a drink?"

* * *

That night, Lancelot sat silently in his room, staring blankly at the fire, an empty mug in his hand. His thumb absent-mindedly stroked the ornate engravings on the handle. He had done it. He had put the liquid - all of the liquid - into Gaia's drink. And she had swigged every last drop. But that was at breakfast. It was late, very late. He wondered if it had not worked properly, and also wondered if he was truly upset should that be the case.

The moment he had managed to pour the liquid into her ale, it felt like he had lost all his senses. He could not think or eat or speak; all he could do was see her eyes, the images of her in his head. It was a strange driving force, unlike anything he had ever known before. And now here he sat, wondering if she was alright, if it had all been a farce from the beginning and whatever he had put in Gaia's drink was a rouse to begin with.

Then other, much more stomach-clenching thoughts entered his mind. Was it poison? Had Merlin tricked him into giving her a death syrup? Merlin had tried to kill her once before, what made him think he wouldn't do it again? And how perfect to use Lancelot as the ploy, thereby causing the entire scenario to appear as an act of rampant jealousy.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door and his heartbeat quickened as he opened it. There, in an awful state of panic, was Gaia. Her eyes were swollen and red, the result of what appeared to be a significant amount of crying. Her cheeks were a devastating shade of red as well, and her complexion paled beyond anything he had ever seen. She was wringing her hands hastily, and he could tell she was shaking from the cold night air.

"Gaia," he whispered as he urgently ushered her inside and to the fire's warmth. "What are you doing here?" _Fool,_ he thought, _what do you _suppose_ she is doing?_

"Lancelot," she muttered, burying her face into the handkerchief he had produced, "Something is not right!" He sighed, the image of her peaceful self slowly slipping away, only to be replaced by the wrecked woman before him. He was taken by surprise, however, when she threw her arms around him and began to sob.

"Something is amiss. Something is terribly and irreversibly wrong, Lancelot!"

He could feel her shaking, and gently ran his hands over her hair, not certain what to say.

"I do not understand," she said hoarsely as she closed her eyes, clinging to his tunic.

"Speak to me," he whispered finally, assuming ignorance was his best choice.

"I am in love," she whispered, "with Arthur."

* * *

_**A/N: **And there you have it. I wasn't planning on this happening quite this quickly, but it seemed right when I was writing it, so I just went with it. I hope you enjoyed. And I want to thank you, people who like my Tristan/OC pairing! I'm really humbled that people enjoy my original character, it gives me a little boost of confidence. Reviews are appreciated, of course, and thank you so much to those of you who've already reviewed!_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N:** I was not expecting to be this late with an update, sorry about that. Hopefully this chapter will make up for it. Hopefully!_

* * *

Lancelot could not feel anything, could not think anything, and most certainly could not say anything. For a moment, he imagined his ears had deceived him and that it was not the name of his best friend, his commander and king that was uttered from Gaia's lips as he stood there in front of the fire, holding her in his arms. She was still clinging helplessly to him, her face buried in his tunic. He could feel her starting to relax, the moment she had said his name. _His name._

He opened and closed his mouth several times, waiting for words to come out.

"Why...why was it I you chose to confide this in, Gaia?" he asked softly the only thing he could imagine, taking her by the shoulders and gently pushing her away that he might see her face. She looked up at him with swollen eyes, and she shook her head after a long moment.

"I do not know," she sighed, wiping the tears just as fresh ones took their place on her crimson cheeks. "Some undescribable sense told me to see you, that you might help me." Her eyes searched his face for a sign of anger, but she found none. Gaia relaxed greatly at this, believing whatever sense it was that told her to seek him out had been right.

"How?" Lancelot stuttered, motioning for her to relieve her legs on the settee as he poured crimson red wine into a two large goblets, filling his own rather generously. "How long has this...?"

"Oh, just today!" Gaia's blush returned quickly as she took the goblet with shaking hands. "I cannot condone this behavior! This is most certainly dissimilar; most implausibly unlike me!"

"And Tristan?"

"Oh dear Lord!" She buried her head in the handkerchief still held in her free hand. "What the _hell_ am I doing, Lancelot? This is asinine. I love Tristan with all my heart - after all, he is my husband. It is unacceptable that I should allow these thoughts to enter my mind! But I am not in my right mind, Lancelot. You must believe that this is not how I ever desired to behave. I do not know what is unusual about me. "

Lancelot nodded slightly, taking a long drain of his wine. He seemed to be everywhere; his mind refused to halt its replay of every word utter by the young woman before him. He tried to focus the untamed mind on what could have possibly gone wrong, but there was nothing. He had done exactly what he had been told. But here she was, the woman who was supposed to be madly in love with him, crying her eyes over another man - not another man! _King Arthur!_

"What am I to do or say?" he asked finally, running a hand over his eyes. "What do you seek from me?"

"Guidance!" Gaia said, almost impatiently, her eyes meeting his.

"And in which direction do you wish me to guide you?" He was tired, this was nonsensical, all of it. He wished he had never acknowledged Merlin that night.

"How can you speak like that? Of anyone I am in fellowship with, it is you who I would come to in such a circumstance."

"Because my love for you was unrequited, and you were a taken woman?" He asked bitterly.

"Because you loved my sister Titania, a taken woman," Gaia snapped. "And you still do." She sighed when Lancelot lost his composure momentarily and looked away from him. "I see it in you, Lancelot, however hard you may wish to hide it. But still you survive, you certainly do not let on to her, she is happily married with Aeron now." She looked back to him, pleadingly. "Help me to see things as you do, to disregard such feelings."

He inwardly scoffed. She did not know that the look in his eyes, the undying love for a woman he might never have, that look was not for her sister but rather for her. But Gaia, sweet Gaia, she was far too caring of others to notice a look as being meant for her.

He sighed deeply, placing his empty glass on the small side table.

"You must sleep," he said softly, offering his hand to her. She accepted it, if not wanting to, and he walked her to his door.

"How am I to sleep?" she asked stubbornly.

"Try," he said, forcing a smile and kissing her cheek. "It will do you well to rest your mind. We will talk on it tomorrow."

She hesitated for a moment, before turning back and kissing his cheek, her lips lingering momentarily to whisper a "Thank you" that sent shivers coursing through Lancelot's spine.

* * *

The moment Gaia left his quarters, Lancelot hastily grabbed his sword and a large woolen cape before heading out the door. His mind was still spinning, but it had come to rest long enough to establish one thing: he had done nothing wrong. He had done absolutely as he was informed to. The fault, then, was Merlin's.

Reaching the castle's entrance he came across a sentry, who looked slightly alarmed at seeing a cloaked figure at such late an hour. He slightly raised his sword to Lancelot's coming.

"Is it a sin for a man to desire to walk in the fresh air when he cannot sleep?" Lancelot spat quickly at the young man, whom after seeing the shadowy form was indeed a Knight, allowed passage. "Thank you," Lancelot sarcastically uttered as he passed through.

Slight snow was falling, and so he raised the hood on his cape, cursing the island for its dank weather as he made his way to the nearby woods.

Merlin stilled dwelled in the place, and seemed too obstinate to leave. And though no one could say for fact where exactly it was in this wood that Merlin lived, that did not hinder Lancelot. If his inclinations were right, Merlin would fine him.

And so it was. Walking aimlessly yet purposefully, Lancelot finally found himself in an opening deep inside the wood where Merlin was standing, leaning slightly on his staff, an amused expression upon his face.

Lancelot drew his sword.

"You! You lied to me!" He held the point of the sword at Merlin's throat. "Did you not?"

Merlin's lips curled into the slightest of smiles, answering the question wordlessly.

"Damn you!" Lancelot snapped, moving slightly closer, inching the blade forward. "Do not suppose for a moment that I would deny myself the pleasure of slitting your form into pieces here and now."

"But you shan't," was Merlin's reply. "Because you know that only I hold the power to restore Gaia's feelings to that of her currently felicity for your scout friend."

"But you won't do that," Lancelot acknowledged, lowering his sword, and Merlin nodded to this.

"I would not dream of it. When one works as hard as I have to see two people together, they do not dismember such work for the likes of one as uncivil as you, Lancelot." Merlin's eyes sparkled as he noted the fire in Lancelot's own.

"Uncivil? And how would I be uncivil in comparison to the measures you have taken? Whatever fate you suppose you are arranging, it is asinine."

"Is it?" Merlin chuckled.

"As I recall," Lancelot fumed, "the only reason your daughter is with us at all is because we saved her after you tried to kill her!"

"Sir Lancelot," Merlin sighed with a smile, the sparkle in his eyes more ardent than ever imaginable, "do you truly still believe that I was trying to kill her?"

* * *

_** A/N: **And there you have it. I promise I am going to explain that last line in the next chapter which will, hopefully, be up soon! Ta!_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: **Ok, I was not expecting it to take me this long to update. I'm hoping to get into a weekly schedule here. Obviously that hasn't been working, but it will, I promise! Anyway, on to the next chapter.._

* * *

Fear, among many other things, consumed Gaia as she trudged softly back to the bedchamber where she presumed Tristan was still sleeping. She could not begin to fathom a reason for her feeling the way she did that night. And even more than that, she realized that she could not fathom a reason for Lancelot to refrain from telling Arthur of her adoration without delay.

Realization rearing its ugly head, Gaia stopped short in the hallway and leaned on the wall for a moment, a dainty hand grasping her stomach. She wondered if she would faint from the confusion, the utter disorientation she was feeling. This had all been made worse at the idea of Lancelot rushing to Arthur's chambers and the king's waiting ears.

Presently and with a gasp, Gaia turned and rushed back down the hall to Lancelot's room. She hastily rapped her fingers against the wood, her heartbeat quickening when she heard no sign of movement from the other end. Warily, she pushed the door ajar and peered in, only to see the room dimly lit by the dying fire, it's inhabitant gone from sight.

"Oh, bloody hell, Lancelot!" She chided in a whisper as she turned abruptly and sped off down the hall as fast as her feet would carry her.

* * *

Lancelot tightened the grip on his sword, his eyes flashing uncertainly as he tilted his head quizzically, demandingly.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he barked slightly to the old man on the receiving end of his blade.

Merlin smiled softly. "You do. Even now, after all that has happened, you think I was trying to kill her when you found her. I suppose you also believed her near-fatal dream to be another attempt on my part?"

Lancelot stiffened, remembering the evening well. Never would he forget, walking down the hallway past Gaia's bedroom and hearing the blood-curdling scream. He had instantaneously unsheathed his swords and rushed into the room, only to find the young woman shaking in a dream on her bed. He had dropped the swords without a thought, running and taking her into his arms. And then, the moment he vowed he would never forget; when she whispered those words.

"Thank God for you, Lancelot." She had uttered the words passionately, clinging to him as if he were the only one alive to save her. In that moment he'd felt a mixture of fear, love, strength, honour, friendship and compassion. He would never forget it.

Merlin shifted under the tension of the blade and this slight movement brought Lancelot from the reverie. He only stared at the old wizard in complete confusion, thoughts and fears dangling in the distance.

"I demand you tell me what this is about," he said finally in a commanding voice that did well to hide the vulnerable side he had just experienced.

"What would you have done?" Merlin asked slyly. "Had you found my daughter in the woods, unscathed, would you have taken her in?" Lancelot's composure betrayed him at the thought. He knew what he had felt about the woman when Tristan first reported finding her body, bruised and broken. He hadn't cared; the only one responsible for Gaia's survival was Arthur.

"Ah," Merlin smirked, "You would not have? You would have left her to her own people - or perhaps killed her then."

"What are you saying?" Lancelot snarled sharply.

"How else was one of my people to find their way into your Great Wall?" Merlin taunted. "How else would you have excepted one of the Wood People to enter Rome's great halls and festivities? There was no other way! Sarmatian fools! It was not that scout of yours who was destined to find her. It was Arthur. The _mírë_ was just the same! It was not Lancelot the Great Romancer who was destined to roam the halls that night. It was Arthur."

Lancelot's brain attempted to take this new information in, but it was as if someone had hit him in the gut with the hilt of a sword. Anger was fuming inside him and his breath was coming raggedly. Had everything been a lie? A plot to twist the minds of the Romans and thus create Merlin's perfect world? King Arthur and his lady the queen, Gaia.

"Did Gaia knowingly submit to this?" he asked harshly, acknowledging that he still held his blade at Merlin's throat.

"Time is being wasted-"

"TELL ME SHE WAS NOT INVOLVED!" Lancelot's voice roared through the clearing, his eyes flashing malevolently, his arms beginning to shake violently.

Merlin smiled again. "You do know that you cannot harm me. I, and only I myself hold the power to reverse this evening's events."

"Then do it. Do it or I will kill you now!"

"Do what you must," Merlin sighed. "My deed to this land is complete."

In any circumstance Lancelot would have let his frustration consume him and unthinkingly drawn back with a breath, thrusting his sword into Merlin's neck without a moment's regret; but there was so much at stake now, so much he could wreck even further than he already had.

"You walk a narrow path, Lancelot," Merlin whispered as the knight slowly lowered his sword, still contemplating his best move. "Should you kill me now, the father of the woman you love would be dead, the blood on your hands. Should you take me hostage and so to awaken your king, it would be revealed that you in part took responsibility for attempting to poison the woman you love - a taken woman - thus persuading her to fall in love with you against her will. But I am willing to offer you one more path."

"What's that?" Lancelot asked bitterly. His eyes had shot up at the old man's last words.

"Release me. Return to your chambers as if nothing has happened. Speak naught to anyone of these events, of what you've done. Do this, and the single thing you love, second only to Gaia herself, it will be given to you."

Lancelot knew he had no choice; he could not let on the he was responsible for the ruination of Gaia's life, he could not even think on it himself. After staring at Merlin in cold bloodlust for moments, he sheathed his sword and turned his back on the man, a single tear falling from his eye.

* * *

Gaia had forgotten all senses of propriety and silence as she ran down the hallway, her bare feet tapping the cold stone floor roughly. All common thought had left her, the only thing she could imagine was the pained face of Arthur, the man she vowed she would not have, hearing the words from his first knight. She could not let it happen. She wanted to harness these feelings, make them go away - not to fuel the fire!

Presently she cursed Lancelot in whispers as tears streamed down her face, the complete mess of a situation dawning in her mind. What would happen, should Tristan discover her feelings? Would he leave her? She could not bare to think of it. With each passing moment she grew more furious with herself and Lancelot alike.

She almost did not notice the large oak doors to the knights' quarters hanging slightly ajar as she passed. With a slight gasp she took cautious steps and peered in.

There, in simplest trousers and tunic, staring unseeingly out the large ornate windows, stood the very man of whom she had just confessed the deepest love; Arthur.

* * *

_**A/N: **Phew. Another semi-cliffie, I know. I love those things. Anyway, I think that was one of the biggest plot twists in the entire series, it sort of ties everything in together. Merlin's a sly one, tricking everyone into doing what he wants, etc. Hopefully it wasn't too expected. That isn't over, trust me. That part has just begun! I promise I'll be updating much faster this time._

_PS. Doesn't everybody just love this movie's soundtrack? It's so stunning!_


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: **In a footnote of my previous chapter I promised that this story's next update would come much faster than the previous one, and here it is nearly a year later. I do love my sense of humor! I don't know if anyone is still interested in reading this story, but I will say that I have no intention of leaving these characters without an ending. I cannot promise that an update to this will come very soon because at present I am actually in the process of moving, but this story will be finished someday, should I write the last pages while I'm old and ragged. For Arthur!_**_  
_**_(the third section of this chapter begins with a memory, hence it's italicization.)_

* * *

The sheer blood in Arthur's veins had gone from a chilling ice to an untamable boil, his heartbeat slowing to a catastrophic halt before jolting forward at an unspeakable speed. Had he taken a breath? He couldn't remember. Had he spoken a word? He must have. She would not have let him stand in silence for so long. Still, only one conscious thought could make it's way through his mind and, whether or not he liked it, eventually past his lips.

"Damn you."

The words were brought with such force, he half expected to see Gaia fall to the floor. Never had this tone escaped to the ears of his friend, never had he ever dreamt he would feel the urge to take her to pieces with only his voice; but never had he dreamt she would walk into his Knights' Room at an unthinkable hour of the morning and bring him tidings of deepest, most profound ardor.

His vision was clouded with fury, tears stinging at the edges of his eyes. He felt her release her gentle hold on his hand and heard her soft footsteps pad back in fear. He winced at the pain he was causing her, or perhaps at the pain she had just caused him - - maybe both. Her words were stabbing his thoughts, relentless in their actions.

"If you feel nothing for me, I will understand," she had said to him, her eyes brimming with tears, "but I can not keep talk of my affections from reaching you. I have struggled with my feelings and have come to rest on my undying, unconditional love for you. I feel it in equal parts, my heart and soul. Please understand, My King...Arthur, I love you."

And now the sweet sound of her confession of love had been replaced with his callous anger, her gentle sobs echoing in the distance. He could not pity her, could not long to ease her emotional pain. Not now. Not after this. He had wanted her for so long, wanted none but her by his side, and she had refused him for the love of his scout. And now that he had found himself happy with his Guinevere, she was here to throw his life into a shambles again. He could not condone it. She was too late.

_Guinevere!_ What would she make of this? Should she wake up unexpected, it would not be long before his wife noted his absence in their chambers. How would he convince her that his love for Gaia had long been replaced by herself? Or had he only convinced himself of such a thing?

Not trusting himself with words, he turned his back on her and walked to the ornate windows, staring out into the darkness with unseeing eyes. _"If you feel nothing for me, I will understand." _How could she understand? How could _he_ understand? They were two small portions of an unthinkably large world.

"_My King."_ He was lost to her. There was nothing for him to do, every time he allowed himself the pleasure of looking deeply into her eyes he had pretended to see a glow of needing there. And here it was - here _she_ was, begging him to claim her as his own. How he had spent so many nights dreaming, praying that it would be so! It was his deepest desires, lay out before him in the shape of the beautiful young woman he had once sheltered from a hazardous outside world. She wanted him to take her, accept her, here and now. And how he had waited...

His chest was heaving as his breaths escaped him in huffs, her body moving closer to his until there seemed no space between them. He was lost in her eyes, in the memory of his dreams. And just as he had dreamt, a breath escaped him harshly and her body slammed against his when he pulled her lips to his in a fierce war of passion. In moments her hands had reached desperately to grasp his open tunic, clinging to him with every ounce of hope inside her. He let himself go, frantically taking in every taste, every feeling, and she returned, offering him a boundless exploration of her self. He felt his consciousness leave him as he gripped her waist, holding her forever, as he had always planned. _In the memory of his dreams._ Only moments ago he had wanted to hurt her with his words, to take her into the depths of emotional pain for everything she had caused him, and now it seemed these same results were desired, but this time he would take her with his ruthless strength and undeviating passion. He would show her how serious he was, how excruciatingly she had injured him.

And yet, she was not fearful. Indeed, she was returning his every surge of fervor with one of her own, her hold around his neck as strong as his own around her fragile body. His desire to kiss her until she bled, to pain her with his own power: all of this seemed to be demanded from her actions as well. It was as if she were begging him to hurt her. A bitter twinge resounded in his heart at that. No, he would not give her what she wanted. He could not hurt her. Though he could not let go of her lips either...

Confusion and anger giving way to frustration, he pushed her away from him roughly and walked back to the table, leaning over it with heaving breaths. He rested his pulsating and sweating palms firmly on the table and hung his head, eyes closing as he fought with himself. He wanted nothing and everything from her, all at once. He had learned to live without her, and yet she was with him in his dreams. The kind, innocent, fragile young woman he had saved from the elements, from a pitiful death. Into his mind entered the vision of her laying in her bed, feeble and frightened, pleading for someone to take her away from the bitterness of reality. How he had wanted to be that man!

Presently, her hands slid under his arms, gently caressing his chest as she lay her head on his back. He could feel her body trembling with sobs, her fingers tremulous as they gently wove betwixt the hair on his heaving chest. He could feel the warm stain of her tears upon his open tunic, could hear the sharp breaths that escaped her as she struggled to breathe in her emotional state. This was not the Gaia he had saved the life of. The Gaia he had known then would never have behaved so recklessly. He had never known the side of her she was displaying to him tonight, and he had never imagined herself capable of knowing it either. And yet, here she was. It was not right, it was not her.

Breaking their connection, he rose to his full height and turned to look at her. He met with bloodshot, tear-stained eyes of the deepest shade of brown, cheeks a fiery red, and her lips swollen from his passionate assault. She could not seem to meet his gaze, her eyes snapping in a thousand different directions, looking anywhere but at him. He gently reached a hand out, pulling her chin up and urging her to look at him. What he saw when she finally acquiesced was the deepest pool of emotion he had ever witnessed. He saw terror and lust, and about a million other things, but among them all he saw the most profound sadness. It was as if she were possessed, he thought, and that the true, gentle, sinless Gaia he had always known was hidden inside, sending only the message of sadness to the outside world.

As he dwelt on what he saw, she moved into his embrace and continued to sob. Yes, something was most definitely not right, but as he held her in his arms, soothing her with soft words and smoothing her dark hair, he wondered if it really mattered...

* * *

_Release me. Return to your chambers as if nothing has happened._ The words of Merlin played over in Lancelot's mind as he strode down the cold hallway, his footsteps resounding on the stone walls of the great castle fortress. _Speak naught to anyone of these events, of what you have done._

_Of what you have done. _What _had_ he done? He had forever ruined the happiness of four people whom he cared greatly about. He could not see any way that this would be remedied. What a fool he had been! What an absolute, undeniable ass!

He ran a hand through his chocolate curls as his pace quickened. He wanted nothing but to return to the safety and seclusion of his chambers at present. His mind could not work while he worried of being found out.

_Do this, and the single thing you love, second only to Gaia herself, it will be given to you."_

The last words fell from his mind. He did not care. He did not _want_ anything. What his heart desired was for everything to be as it had been. He had been miserable and alone; he remembered sitting at the pub, wallowing in bitterness as he watched the married men and women bask in the happiness they had found in each other. Now, at this moment, he would give everything, his own life for the restoration of that happiness.

His thoughts froze in his mind as he reached his chambers, seeing a form outside his door. _Gaia_ , he thought. The memory of the broken, helpless victim of his foolishness came flooding back to him. He had claimed to love her, but he had caused her the acutest pain and the deepest, most undeviating misery. His heart was leaden with the pain he had seen in her eyes. The vision had haunted him ceaselessly from the moment he had opened his door to her. And now she had returned, and with her presence came the biting helplessness he was finding himself to be consumed by.

As he drew closer to the form, he was met with such hauntingly disturbed eyes as he had expected to see, but much to his horror, he found that they were not the same soft brown ones that belonged to Gaia.

* * *

_The arena was empty; not a single soul existed within it, with the exception of Tristan and Gaia. The dirt had long since settled after he had instructed her to return her feisty mare to the stall, but while her loving steed was happily munching away at her dinner, Gaia found herself still hard at work. Tristan was nothing if he was not thorough, and he would see to it that she was prepared to the best of his ability, for the Saxon legions had been growing in numbers and the young woman had never experienced a fight with any but the Woads._

_Here she stood, at one end of the arena, her target at it's opposite end while a solid-faced Tristan paced beside her. She felt on display, feeling the pressure of his intense eyes as they moved up and down, covering the length of her body. A cold shiver of anticipation swept over her. He was not playing coy, though, as she could easily pretend he was. His mind was on nothing but war, violence and his pupil's skills. He took perhaps nothing as seriously as this, which she had come to expect with his fifteen years spent doing nothing else. At his expectant nod, she pulled an arrow from the quiver at her back and loaded it into the bow._

_Her eyes narrowed and widened as she stared intently at her target, urging herself to find the best possible focus. The target waxed and waned as her eyes worked, and finally it came into a precise view. There was a tension as she drew the arrow back, and a flood of relief as it left her and found it's way directly into the center of it's destined target. With a deep sigh she left her aiming stance and glanced to Tristan with questioning eyes._

"_Good." He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, as his pacing moved itself in a circle around her. She turned to follow his person expectantly as he did this, not entirely satisfied with his response. There was a doubt lingering within his words. "The most important weapon the Woads use is their shelter in the woods," he said after a moment, his inevitable circle continuing itself around her. "Their knowledge of the forest is their greatest ally in battle; you know this." She nodded absently._

"_When used with the proper skill, the trees can win a man a battle," she said calmly, remembering when she had been taught this by one of her people. "There is no enemy that shares the connection the Woads have with their home."_

"_And they do not leave it," Tristan returned, his mind still working marvelously as he walked. "They attack from the shadows, or within them. Their gift is their stealth, and their stealth is given them by the secrecy of the woods. But you will not have the aid of the forest when you find yourself submerged in a battle with Saxons. There is no time for focus. You must trust in your ability, and you must constantly seek improvement of your skill." Gaia did not answer him, she only continued to watch him, wondering how his mind gathered all of this information, and how he knew precisely what to do with it. He was truly extraordinary, in every way._

_And as she watched him walk around her, she could not help the wave of excitement that washed over her, nor the small smile that tugged at her lips, nor the far off glimmer in her eye as her mind drifted to daydreams of the man before her. He was still talking, but the words were lost on her. She only stared in bemused amazement at how his magical deep brown eyes peaked out from behind the mess of braids that wound themselves in his hair, and the way his rugged hands moved swiftly with his words, tattooed with symbols she had never understood, from a place she had never been. She watched as his body moved calmly around her, never showing a sign of anticipation or fear. The two words were lost to Tristan. He was unlike anyone she had ever known before._

"_Do you understand?" Gaia's eyes snapped up to his as he questioned her, and she felt her face flame with an uncontrollable blush. It was evident that he had seen her distraction the moment she raised her eyes to him. She fumbled for words, for an explanation as he stared at her with steady eyes._

"_I...I'm so sorry," she visible shook herself and let her eyes fall to the floor. She was overcome with embarrassment at having been found out, and she could not meet his penetrating gaze. How brazen she must seem to him at this moment! To be having such impudent thoughts and daydreams while he spoke so strongly about things he had more passion for than almost anything else. How could she have shown him such little respect? She was such a fool!_

_Her self-berating was terminated as she felt the rough, leather-like feel of his skin as he raised her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. He was not angry. In fact, she had never seen him so far away from the emotion. His eyes were light as he pulled her chin gently forward and let his lips caress hers. As she returned the kiss, another wave of excitement overtook her, and she felt him silently chuckle as she shuddered in anticipation._

Gaia smiled at the memory that had penetrated her dreams, but the cold reality of the previous night hit her with the greatest force and she tensed considerably at the feel of a man's arms around her. She was where she had been before the beautiful memory. She was curled in Arthur's arms as he lay sleeping in his chair at the Round Table. She had hoped against blissful hope that it had all been a horrible, horrible nightmare. And now, though she closed her eyes tightly against it, she knew awaiting her sight was the shocking reality of her unthinkable behavior.

After a moment of flirting with hopeless denial, a scent reached her nose that caused her blood to freeze inside her. It was a raw, musky, intense scent that she had wanted to be enveloped in until the end of her days. Her eyes flew rampantly open as she looked up into the dark brown orbs of the man holding her in his arms, and she wondered if her heart had possibly stopped beating.

"Tristan, please, I can explain..."

* * *

**_A/N: _**_Thank you, my friends, for all of your kind reviews and encouragements. You are a big part in the process of writing these little enjoyments of mine. Cheers!_


End file.
